Saturday, January 28, 2012


This is something I made a few weeks ago and posted elsewhere, but it ended up getting shared all over the internet.  Thought I would share it with you.  Hope you have a great day!
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Monday, January 23, 2012

When bad things happen to good plants

Over the past few years, I have adopted this practice of purchasing overeager plants goggling for a home that will cultivate and cherish them forever. I have no idea why I do this.  Maybe, I do it out of pity or because I know that I have the ability to completely dominate plant life.  Either way, this last plant I purchased was a random decision.  Unfortunately for the poor little fellow, I chose to pick him up and put him in my cart that day. He was none the wiser. 

People say that plants don't have feelings, but this one did.  I could almost see his little leaves clapping for joy as I pulled my car into the driveway.  Magic rays of sunshine exploded from the sky to welcome us home.  I had but one role and that was to take care of this plant for the rest of its entire existence.  Seemed like a simple enough plan.

I found him a beautiful spot in my home.  He glowed in the light and seemed happy there.

I spent a great deal of time coaching myself on how to take care of this plant.  I was not going to fail, again. "I shall call him Planty," I said to myself, "and he shall be mine."

I even went to the library and checked out books on plants.  My plant was going to be a super plant, like a super hero, only without the cape...and the superpowers.  I realized that for years I had taken advantage of the fact that I was higher up on the food chain.  Plants are actually our friends.

 If there was such a thing as Plant Olympics, Planty would be there. 

If a plant would ever be chosen to be sent into outer space on a shuttle mission with the astronauts, my plant would be the one. 

 I had great plans.  I made graphs and charts.

Secretly, I wished I could speak plant. Every week I picked up more books from the library.
And more...


Sadly, things seemed to go in direct contrast to what I had envisioned.  During my quest of trying to fulfill my desires of aspiring to morph Planty into the "Plant of the Year," it seems that I had completely forgotten to water him.  

One day I decided to do some cleaning and found him lifeless behind a pile of books. Plant books.

My heart was broken.  He had relied on me to care for him and give maybe just a tad of attention.  I had become so engrossed in my own selfish wants and needs that this sweet little plant died behind a stack of books. I silently berated myself.  This was my tenth plant murder of the year.

I have officially become a professional plant assassin.
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Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Fun size candy is not fun at all

I would really like to know what exactly the definition of fun is.  Is fun a candy bar that is so small that it looks like it was just born? I really have a problem eating things that were just born.  It is not fun at all.  So, why name a candy bar, "fun sized?" Were the "sad sized" not selling well?

Did the candy bar marketers think that my life was so boring that a tiny candy bar would bring me to a state of euphoria that I have never before experienced.

It is really embarrassing to go to a party and there is a dish filled with these so-called "fun sized" candy bars swaddled in tiny, crinkly papers that you have to try to hide after you open each little bar because you don't want anyone to know how many you are eating.  Then you crinkle when you walk.

If they were fun, they would be the size of a loaf of bread.   I would not eat an entire loaf of bread, ever.  But, somewhere along the way, during the course of popping "fun sized" bars into my mouth like tic-tacs, I went and gave myself Type II diabetes.  Am I supposed to stand there and count the bars as I eat them?

Here is how it actually plays out...Chomp. Gone.

I have no idea how many times I do that.  It is a very complex thing to count and eat at the same time, like multitasking.  My brain and my body are completely blindsided when I am doing two things at once, like trying to text and drive an ambulance at the same time.  I have trouble doing that.

I get very stressed at having to rip all of those little papers off of the bars and then trying to stuff them in my pocket or a baby's diaper and then have to figure out who I am going to blame for the deed.  But if there isn't a fresh baby around, guess what?  I got 32 crinkly papers to try to nonchalantly dispose of.

Then,  to top it off, I  remember "you are what you eat."  I guess that means I should eat skinny people.  Why did I eat all of that chocolate?  They are too small! Just because they are smaller, I feel I can eat significantly more of them.

My life, in those moments, starts to spiral out of control.  I start to get frustrated.  Agitated. The crinkly sounds drive me nuts.

  The baby starts crying.

My stress levels and confusion helplessly converge into one giant psychotic machine of delusion and despair.  I start to shout and scream and fling myself across the room.  The evening pathetically becomes a blur as I perilously try to conquer myself.  Did I crash an ambulance earlier?  I drift around, completely unaware that I am either in the beginning stages of a sugar hangover or a chocolate induced seizure.  I get cocky.

The room starts to spin.

Inevitably, the next day, I get a phone call.

"Wow, you were so much fun last night! Thanks for making it the best party ever!"

After I hang up the phone and inject myself  in the stomach with a syringe full of insulin, I realize that maybe the candy marketing people are very clever and know what they are doing after all.

I really should not be so quick to judge.
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Sunday, January 15, 2012

What heros are made of--Tripp Roth

I have my serious hat on today.  I often write about how I have always wanted to be a superhero.  Oftentimes, I feel these huge labyrinths of guilt because I have not made an arresting difference in my world.  Yet, there are others who silently usher the world to its knees for a few moments to peruse itself.  Those are superheroes to me.  One of my superheroes passed away yesterday. His name was Tripp Roth.

If you don't know who Tripp was, I encourage you to google his name, but be prepared to cry.  He was only two and a half years old and he and his family lived in a town called Ponchatoula, Louisiana.  He was born with a disease called epidermolysis bullosa, which is a disease in which any slight friction to the skin causes huge blisters.  He fought from day one.  He played a little drum, had an Elmo...and he changed the world.

His mom, Courtney, blogged his entire existence of struggles and triumphs on her blog.  In the end Tripp won and the world lost, because sometimes superheroes are made up of stuff you and I can't even possibly fathom and he has moved on to a place where superheroes go when their job here is done.  Tripp had inside of him a will and a desire to be everything he could to everyone he could around him in his short life.  He was compassion, zest, and tenderness wrapped tightly in love.

Anyone who looks close enough can see that I am nowhere near good enough to be a superhero, but when and if I become one, I can only hope to be half of the blazing torch that Tripp Roth was.  Heroes don't have to fly or run into burning buildings.  Everyday heroes treat those around them with an amazing sense of mercy, kindness and forgiveness.

And some, but not all, hold in their hand a little drumstick and beat out a little tune that will stay in our hearts forever to remind us how short and sweet and beautiful this life is and why we are here.  Thank you, Tripp, for being my hero...

Tracie submit to reddit

How to be a crazy cat lady

Step 1:  Go to a fortuneteller

If she sees cats, you are in.  Don't worry, she will.

Step 2:  Take this test

              How many cats are too many?

In order to make a proper home for your cat, you need to limit...

No way, that was a trick question!  There is no such thing as too many cats, EVER! 

Step 3:  Find a cat

The local shelter has 5 billion.

Step 4: Welcome the cat into your home
Step 5: Name the cat

I know it is tempting to name him after a cute food or a verb, but don't.  Give him a human name.  Crazy Cat Men name their cats after women.  Crazy Cat Ladies name their cats after men.  It is just how it is.  I don't make the rules.  That way, if someone calls you and asks what you are doing, then you just say, "Oh, I'm talking to Tom."  They will never know you were talking to your cat (never tell people that!) and you are still considered borderline normal.

Moving on.

5.  Invest in a cat lady wardrobe

Crazy Cat Women wear sweatpants.  Crazy Cat Men wear plaid.  Once again, I don't make the rules.

6.  Find a good friend

Hanging on married people is best.  They know you are a crazy cat lady and don't care if you hang on them for your human attention and usually will put you to work to earn your keep.  You will be more than happy to do it!  In the end they go home to their human counterparts.  You get to spoon with your fuzzy, squishy little human!

Examine the pros and cons of being a crazy cat lady.  Just think, you will never, ever have to share your food again (pro)! Yay!  But, your fuzzy, new snuggle partner(s) will always leave you full of hair and try to claw your face off (con).

You will never have to make the effort to love another human being again (pro).  No one will ever love you (con).

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Friday, January 13, 2012

Big-boned Mr. Jones

Ok, I overheard someone telling another someone that he was pretty sure he was big-boned and I didn't want to hurt his feelings and tell him that I was pretty sure he wasn't big-boned so I pretended to be an X-Ray machine and came home and drew this up.  I like the skelaton...hope ya'll like it, too.  Please like my Facebook page to get more updates and share with your friends.  And thanks to everyone for visiting my blog and making it a success! And now, Mr. Jones...

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Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Things I learned in the third grade that had no purpose for the rest of my life

Who Stole the Cookies from the Cookie Jar? I did. Thank ya'll for singing about it...

Connect the Dots.  Who would have thought that hours of mindless dot connecting would not provide me with a cornucopia of brilliance into my adulthood.  

Square Dancing  Am I missing something here? Why did they teach me to be barnfolk?

The Color Wheel   It was not conductive to my life of not caring ever about colors

Red Rover  My back, arms and neck still hurt from that one.   "Red Rover, Red Rover send Tracie right over so we can clothesline her and leave her scarred for life physically, mentally and emotionally because she cannot break through our lineup of 6 foot third grade boys all destined to play professional football by the 4th grade."

Rotary Phone Usage  Pick up the phone.  Dial.  Then, while you are at it hang up and join the rest of us in the 21st century.
I have to say that while I was in the third grade, I had hopeful projections for myself.  Even though I am 40 years old now and unemployed,  I suppose that I cannot implicate the third grade in the failing stages of my life.  Now if you will excuse me, I have some dots to go connect.

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    Sunday, January 8, 2012

    Why I bought an eyepatch farm this weekend

    On a normal day, I suffer an irrational anger at milk or cats or something that I can physically destroy with no consequences.  But, lately that stinging anger has shifted to my thriving dome of bills that teeter off of the edge of my kitchen cabinet where I toss them unopened.  

    However, when that dome starts to mature itself into an entire mountain range, it is time to take action.  The problem is that I do not have a job, but I do shop.  I spent the weekend pondering my situation, about how I am going to get rid of all of these bills.  Of course, I tried stabbing them first. 

    I am considered, however, very creative and inventive.  As I sat there this weekend staring at the mounting stack of bills, I visualized in my head what I could invent and sell to make money.  And then...

    It hit me! What was the one thing that the world needed and I could provide?  Something that could have MULTIPLE uses.  Economical.  Practical. 

    Eyepatch and eyepatch accessories! Not pirate eyepatches.  No, my product is unique as it will always have more than one use.  Pirates are just dumb.

    Here is an example of what I call "Firepatch."  I have a few kinks to work out, but so far I am very impressed with this product! Once again, all of my eyepatches will double as another product.

    The next patch I had to buy an entire eyepatch farm for, but I think that it will be a best seller.  It is called "Cabbage Patch." The great thing about the "Cabbage Patch" is that the patch can be recycled, like a dirty cloth diaper, only you can eat it!  Cabbage is known for its many health benefits including lowering cholesterol, thus the patch would serve more than one purpose.  When your cholesterol is lowered as a result of eating the cabbage, your life would possibly be saved, thus making me a hero for saving your life!  You are welcome!

    Another patch that really excites me is the "Pumpkin Patch."  I see this one quickly becoming a best seller as the pumpkin can be used in many versatile ways, including making a pie out of it! Who doesn't like pumpkin pie? We all do.  We LOVE pumpkin pie.  And you can carve it or play pumpkin bowling.  The pumpkin can even be used as a weapon in self defense if someone tries to attack you.  Once again, I have created something that saves lives.  That is a good feeling.
    I will be selling the patches at the low price of $12.99 each.  You will not find a lower price as I am the only person who will be selling them.  No competition and the world is my possibility.  I am so glad I poured my life savings into this venture instead of paying my bills! Well, I would love to finish this, but I have a few dollars left and a whole lot of shopping to do!

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